


Secrets of the Isle of the Lost: Wicked Attraction

by DanayaJasmina, QueenAshe (queenofdespair)



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), The Isle of the Lost Series - Melissa de la Cruz
Genre: Biting, Body Part Kinks, Coming In Pants, F/M, Fantasizing, First Time, Flirting, From Sex to Love, Inspired by Music, Masochism, Masturbation, Multiple Sex Positions, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sex, Song Lyrics, Song Parody, Touching, Vaginal Sex, Wet Dream, and so are you for reading this, these kids are filthy little demons, yall need help and jesus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanayaJasmina/pseuds/DanayaJasmina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofdespair/pseuds/QueenAshe
Summary: Read at your own risk.All canon to the main story. We regret nothing.---The other half of the experience of living on the Isle. Sex, lust, and "love".





	Secrets of the Isle of the Lost: Wicked Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vice learns 3 things about herself: 
> 
> 1\. She likes boys.  
> 2\. She likes touching herself.  
> 3\. She'll never live this down if her best friends have anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vice sees "Jay" for the first time and discovers that she wants him. 
> 
> Badly.

Vice watched the scene unfold before her below, her eyes wide in open fascination and intrigue. The right side (because the left side of her head was shaved) of her face was covered by her black dreadlocks which acted like a curtain that spilled out over her shoulder. Her lips were parted slightly and she breathed out quietly.

Uma, the girl next to her wore aqua braids up in a bun. Peering over, she waved a hand full of sky-blue-painted nails in front of her face and snickered at her friend. When that didn’t work, she lightly nudged her shoulder. “Isle to Viceeeey,” Uma taunted in a sing-songy fashion but that didn’t work either-- so then she gave up and decided to lean forward, yelling into her friend’s ear. _“You’re swooning, bitch!”_

Vice blinked some. She was finally brought out of her dream-like trance when she turned to the walnut-complexioned girl. Vice’s left hand rubbed at her eye. She felt the heat rise up in her face, embarrassment soon settling in. She groaned preemptively, knowing what was soon to come.  

“She’s _definitely_ swooning.” The girl on Vice’s other side -- Nereza, teased with a grin. She wore her own black hair in a ponytail to the right. She also wore black fingerless leather gloves, a rose chain choker with rose studded earrings, a black leather jacket with red rose embroidered appliques on the sleeves, a garnet red colored off-shoulder long sleeves crop top with a criss cross double front, black high waist ripped up skinny jeans, and same colored ankle-length worn out combat boots with embroidered dragons and red roses on the sides, and the laces untied at the top.  She decided paint her nails and lips red to match with her outfit.

Vice, who sat in middle of them crossed her arms over her chest, and looked away from Uma. “No, I’m not.” She lied. _“Villains don’t swoon.”_ She kicked at the dirt beneath her, with a scoff. A small dust cloud was kicked up and some debris fell into the hair of a Villain Kid who coughed, swatting at the air around them. Not even the minor inconvenience of another managed to make her snicker as usual. Vice scowled, her sharp teeth visible. As much as she wanted to hide, her face and hair made her stand out no matter where she went.

She'd even decided to wear a frayed brown leather vest with her trademark claw mark emblem on the shoulder of the sleeves and on the center-back of it, over a neon-orange tube top, a golden and black Outlander-styled bead necklace with matching earrings, and dark low-rise denim jeans that were ripped and stretched out at the knees which went into spiked black boots with shamrock-colored soles. (She painted them personally and they were comfortable to wear, so it was her favorite pair of footwear).

“Oh yeah? Then why were you drooling?” Uma and Nereza both pointed out at the same time, causing Vice to defensively wipe at her mouth. They both earned her glare.

“Fuck _both of you._ ”

“I know that look in her eye,” Uma continued, ignoring Vice’s glare. “Vicey only drools when she’s hungry. And it’s not for food, that’s for sure.” Uma smirked, leaning back in her seat. She didn’t have her Captain’s hat - contrary to belief, she didn’t always wear it. That day instead, she wore silver drop earrings, her mother’s seashell necklace, a sapphire blue striped shirt with magenta arm sleeves, a graffiti’d brown sleeveless hoodie with an aqua-bandana wearing octopus on the back of it and scratchy handwriting which said _“What’s My Name?”_ , a coffee-colored skirt and same colored ankle boots with a starfish and fishnet motif.

“Oooh, I knew it,” Nereza crossed her arms over her chest. “Dirty, dirty, dirty,” she teased.

Vice put one leg over the other and scowled harder. She was used to them teasing her, but hated it regardless. “Like I said, I’m not swooning. Shut the fuck up!” She would have threatened to move somewhere, but there were no other available seats in the _Abandoned Warehouse_ \-- it was exactly as it sounded, except not really “abandoned”. The warehouse was a multi-purpose structure whose interior was way too large and big -- someone could get lost in it. On the outside, it was five street blocks long. It held multiple events, one of them being something known as “Fight Night” -- every other week. Fight Night was also as it sounded -- two combatants fighting each other in the right side of the warehouse, as it redecorated in the fashion of a “Colosseum” with profanities and ‘inappropriate’ sayings in graffiti, built from the scraps of whatever the kids could find. Bets were placed on who would win. In that respect, fights in the warehouse were different than fights on the streets. Maybe it was because practically almost all of the Villain kids were there, or it was because there was more of a chance for survival on some other level of sick entertainment for the Isle inhabitants. It was also mostly teenagers with no adults in sight -- which said a lot about the island.

That aside, these fights were _not_ the faint of heart. Depending on the bet, the condition would either be a ‘survivor round'or a death match. Death matches were rare, and speaking of matches, that was exactly the type of match this was. A match to the death, no doubt requested by the opponent. The opponent of which, was bruised, with oozing cuts on his arms and face. He was a light-skinned teenager that was lean. He wore a dark green jacket, and his hair was fashioned in some twists that made his head look like a pineapple. He scowled, and sweat dripped from his forehead. He stood with his legs shoulder-length apart and his fists tightly clenched, held in front of his torso.

The other fighter though, was the person who _really_ caught Vice’s attention; he was a brown-skinned boy with long, straight dark hair, focused chocolate brown eyes, and strong arms. He wore a sneaky grin, one that she had already etched into her mind so that she wouldn’t forget it. She memorized his face because she didn’t have a name to him yet, not that she was complaining. He had a face that she could spend all-day looking at, a face that she wouldn’t mind sitting on--

“She’s swooning again,” Uma sighed. “Isle to Kit-Kat,” she waved her hand in front of the girl’s face once more. There was no response. _Again._ “She’s gone,” Uma gave up.  

“Oh spirits,” Nereza sighed. She tried poking her friend’s cheek -- nope. _Definitely_ no response again. Nothing other than the small sigh that Vice released again. “She’s gone for sure. ...Should we be concerned for the boy with the hair?” She jabbed a thumb in the fighter’s direction.

“Nah. He can handle himself. I think. Maybe.” Uma shrugged. “He may be reigning champion but ain’t nobody survived her clutches. _Not a single person._ ” She shook her head, laughing lightly. “Last guy that tried to flirt with her got his balls twisted off.” Uma said casually, putting a leg on top of the other. “Like, _right the fuck off_. Guy who tried it was a creepy perv anyway.”

“Really? Oh! Oh wait, was it the ‘peeping tom’ back at Dragon Hall? Vice told me about someone ugly bothering her.”

“ _S_ _aaame_ fucker.” Uma said flatly. She ‘tsk’d’ disapprovingly. “Safe to say that he won’t be approaching anyone anymore. He bled out. I dunno what happened to the body after. I think the teachers tossed it into the ocean.” She shrugged. "Not my school, not my business. Serpent Prep just puts them near dumpsters," Uma shrugged.

While they continued their small-talk, Vice watched the brown-haired boy intently, her chin resting on her palms as she leaned forward. She noticed that he was very athletic, and quick on his feet. His reflexes were sharp, too. As sharp as her nails.

“Come over here, _street rat_ ,” the light-skinned boy taunted him. “So I can rearrange your face.” The boy faked a left hook, hoping to make the other flinch- but he didn’t take the bait.

“Or you could stop being a _bitch,_ Tyrone.” The boy responded, as his sneaky-grin widened. “Fake punches don’t scare me. If you really want to intimidate for real, you gotta make it convincing.” The boy with the red and black leather vest stood in the same stance as Tyrone, but he was looser, compared to the other boy. He looked like he could be knocked over easily which made Tyrone scoff. “And one more thing,” He added.

“What?”

“Don’t look to your left.”

Tyrone gave the boy a confused look, and despite what the boy said -- had turned his head to the left. There was nothing there, but no sooner as he opened his mouth, a fist found its way into it, knuckles brushing harshly against teeth and jaw. But he didn’t have time to react, because the same fist had pulled back and rammed itself into his stomach - knocking the air out of his lungs. His mouth was opened wide, and instinctively, his arms went to cover his stomach, but again, he wasn’t given any chance to react, because the boy in the leather vest was relentless. Tyrone lurched forward, and the opponent’s knee collided Tyrone’s nose.

“Told you not to look to your left, dumbass,” The ‘street rat’ taunted, his hands now around the collar of Tyrone’s mesh-styled shirt. He pulled him up, and then headbutted him, which elicited an excited cheer from the audience.

 _‘I wish that was me. Tyrone’s a lucky asshole.’_ Vice thought to herself, biting at her lower lip. She felt hot in her face and in her lower regions. There was even a soft purr that left her lips. She rubbed her legs against each other as she witnessed the brown-haired boy ram his fist into Tyrone’s face once more, which knocked him back some.

Tyrone didn’t see what was behind him, and tripped, falling on his ass. His leg was then stomped on, and then Tyrone was kicked over, writhe like a pathetic worm on his stomach. On the ground, he was now covered in dirt, cuts and bruises, some of which seemed to be catching up with him --- he was struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. He tried to get up, but _‘Street rat’_ ’s black combat boot kept him in place, landing squarely on the back on his head. He kicked him in the face, and Tyrone winced in pain. Again, the audience erupted in cheers and whooping noises which included, _“Kill him!”, “Finish him!”, “Fuck ‘im up, Cobra!”_ , then a chant of the boy’s name, seemingly. _“Cobra!”, “Cobra!”, “Cobra!”_

“ _Get up_ , _Tyrone_.” The one called “Cobra” started, his dark eyes narrowing at the pathetic excuse of a fight, thus far. He pressed the sole of his boot against Tyrone’s leg again, which drew out another pained groan from him. “ _Y_ _ou were talking shit two weeks ago, so you don’t get to tap out of this one. You’re the one who asked for this deathmatch, you_ _piece of shit. Get the fuck up already._ ”

Vice’s mouth opened slightly at that point, and she felt her mouth start to water at all of the impure thoughts flooding her mind. She got more excited with blow he dealt---  so much so that if she leaned forward any further, she would have fallen out of her seat. She didn’t, because of Uma and Nereza holding onto each of Vice’s shoulders, and holding her in place. Vice didn’t even feel the hands, or hear the teasing of her two friends besides her. All she saw was him; the brown-haired boy, the ‘street rat’, this ‘Cobra’ person. Vice saw him defend himself when Tyrone rolled away from his slow walking opponent and weakly picked up something from one of the small brown, wooden crates - the unseen object that Tyrone had tripped on earlier. He used one of the Warehouse’s pillars to stand himself up.  He limped, and swung angrily. _Cobra_ moved backwards, missing the knife narrowly - it sliced at his black pants. Tyrone’s hand was then grabbed and twisted. With a yelp of pain, he dropped the knife. At that, Vice’s tongue ran across the bottom of her lip, and her nails dug into the seating under her.

Cobra applied pressure on his wrist. Tyrone tried to yank his arm free, but found that he couldn’t do so-- what the hell was up with this kid? Was he doing drugs? There was no reason should be that strong, he thought. He looked up into the eyes of his enemy, and at this point, his would-be killer. Nothing about him was human, to Tyrone, especially not the dead, dark look in his eyes or the way that he said next to nothing, and definitely not his snake-like grin. He could have sworn that he saw some fangs but he ignored it and decided that maybe it was the adrenaline making him hallucinate.

The sounds of his bones cracking made Cobra grin even more. All of his teeth and malice were visible now, if they weren’t before. He wanted Tyrone to _suffer_. He wanted to completely destroy him. A low laugh left the Cobra’s throat, and he bent over to pick up the knife that Tyrone dropped. Sweat adorned Tyrone’s forehead and face and panic began to settle in him. “H-hey, now wait a minute,” he stuttered. “Can’t we just talk this out-”

 **_“....”_ **Cobra pulled on Tyrone’s arm and yanked it harshly, thereby dislocating it from his shoulder.  

“FUCK!” He yelled, a hand on his shoulder. Tears stung the corner of his eyes, and a long string of curse-words left his mouth as he curled up into a ball. His cries of pain and anguish were drowned out by the cheer of the audience. The constant chants of   _“Kill that bitch!”, “Slit his throat!” and “No mercy!”_ rang through the raucous crowd.

Cobra squatted, intense brown eyes staring at his opponent. He yanked on Tyrone’s hair, watching the other’s face contort in pain. **_“I thought about it. So no.”_** Tyrone’s currently tear-streaked face made him smirk, and Cobra laughed again. The thief and killer was definitely in his element. He then slammed his face into the concrete. Cobra stood up, and walked towards the boy’s front. He squatted down again, and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Tyrone’s face was riddled with dirt, bruises, open cuts, and a swollen cheek. There were even small sharp pebbles that embedded themselves in his skin, and he could only breathe ragged, shallow breaths. Whatever strength, and bravado he had earlier was gone, _completely_.

Even the crowd went quiet, some of them fearing that he might have died already.

Tyrone’s chest rose and fell almost quietly, as if he was trying to save energy. Even his lips were bruised, the bottom one being busted open by a tiny rock. One of his eyes were swollen and had grown a knot. When he tried to put his lips together to form a word, he ended up coughing up blood and saliva. He tried again, only a pitiful squeak coming out.

**_“I don’t want to hear you.”_ **

Tyrone coughed up more blood, the crimson liquid staining the corners of his mouth. The swollen eye struggled to stay open. He tried to open his mouth, but Cobra again, didn’t give him time to. He slammed Tyrone’s head into the concrete. Since he wasn’t dead yet, the audience went back to cheering and shouting noises of sick, twisted encouragement. So Cobra slammed his head into the concrete repeatedly - each slam getting more angry and violent than the last. Cobra’s smile had turned into a sadistic grin. With each slam, more blood came out of the boy’s mouth and face -- though it wasn’t until the loud cracking of what could only be a _skull_ occurred. A collective gasp happened, and morbid curiosity and silence overtook the onlookers.

Uma placed a hand over her heart and cursed, “Zeus, Poseidon and _Hades_.” She wasn’t sure to laugh or be shocked-- so she turned to look over at her friend. Nereza had turned to look at Uma at the same time. Then they both slowly looked to Vice. The girl in question had her hands in between her legs, a questionable expression on her face.

“Vice?” Nereza tried, waving her hand in front of Vice’s face. There was no response, nothing but the shiver that girl produced and her eyes rolling nearly into the back of her head.

“She’s gone again!” 

 

\---

 

Later that night:

 

Vice’s door was locked, and Scar was asleep. He was lucky that he could… because she couldn’t, and it _frustrated_ her. She kept thinking about the fight earlier, specifically about the boy in the beanie. (She’d also learned that his name was actually “Jay” from the announcer, when she recovered from her “high”). She also learned that he was the son of Jafar. He was a thief, and had a reputation of being “crazy”. (Which definitely weren’t _just rumors_ , as she saw with her own two eyes).  Seeing him in action, she couldn’t wrap her head around it. How could someone like that exist? Someone who was like _her_? Someone who laughed in the face of death and sent sad little nobodies on their merry way without a care in the world? Someone who _likes_ causing pain? Someone that she would actually take a liking to, much less? Another monster like her?

Her bottom lip became caught between her teeth. She dragged her nails up the fabric of her pants up and down. She then curled up into a ball and rubbed at her face, willing the memories to stop replaying on repeat. The way he punched Tyrone in the face, the way he kicked him in the face, how he dislocated his shoulder… the sound of his skull _cracking_ … She breathed out harshly, a familiar heat washing over her body, before she shivered. She only had this experience when she got to fight someone who well, put up a _fight_ or when she killed them. But never over a person, much less a boy. So what should she do...? She rolled onto her back, her thighs still pressed together. Her eyes were half-lidded and she bit down on her lower lip again. The images weren’t going away…

She pouted, but then got an idea. If she couldn’t shake them… maybe she could embrace them instead.

So then Vice focused. It was almost overwhelming. Her underwear and pants had already been soaked since she prematurely came during the event, but that’s not what caught her off guard -- it was the soreness in that muscle there that did. So the first thing to go were those articles of clothing. She unbuttoned her jeans, and pushed them down to around her ankles. She did the same for her panties. When they both slid down to her ankles, it was then that she felt a slight draft in between her legs. She shivered and a small noise left her lips. She quickly put a hand over her mouth because she didn’t want to risk waking up Scar, but she so badly needed the release. With her other hand, she began massaging the sore muscle. She had been aroused for so long that the area actually _hurt._ She fingered her clit in a circle, more moans and even whines starting to leave her mouth. She tried to be quiet, but her body craved the opposite. She also noticed that her nipples were erect and had been poking out of her tube top for the rest of the day, and she wasn’t told about it. If she wasn’t too busy “massaging” herself, she’d be offended. With the hand that was over her mouth, she moved it to her neck, her fingers brushing over her collarbone, eventually cupping her left breast in her hand. She started imagining if it was Jay’s hand instead. She wondered how it would feel; how rough his hand must have been, or how big it was compared to hers. She heard his voice again, taunting the nobody he killed. Instead of it being Tyrone, she imagined that it was her that he was saying it to. Her breath hitched, and her back arched, lifting her chest into the air. She eventually got under her tube top, and started rolling her nipple around between her index and middle fingers; imagining his hand again, instead. She imagined that he snarled it into her ear. She whimpered and turned her head to the side, her eyes glazed over in clear, obvious lust. Her finger slipped past her clit and into the slick, wet hole that was her core.

**_("I don’t want to hear you.”)_ **

The familiar voice bounced around in her head again, and this time she let out a louder moan. Her toes curled as she spread her legs slightly wider, picking up the pace with her finger. Granted, she had no idea what the hell she was doing since it was her first time really touching herself, but what she did know was that she had suddenly had an uncontrollable, carnal, almost animalistic need. She had a craving that demanded to be filled and her thoughts were all over the place. She bucked her hips into her now two fingers. They pumped in and out, and she mewled upon feeling contractions down there. The sensitive muscle that was her clit twitched, and it begged to be touched -- every part of her did, actually. She squeezed her breast tighter, rolled her nipple between her hands faster and even went so far as to pinch it a couple of times. She was a panting, sweaty mess that was most likely ruining her blankets and sheets, and being way too loud but she stopped caring when she stopped thinking. The contractions continued, and she turned on her side, unable to remain in one spot for too long. She really, really, _very much_ , wanted to be touched - no, she wanted to be _filled_. _Fucked out of her senses_. Her body, not her, was already imagining what would it be like if she was - and a delirious laugh left her lips. It danced in the air of her room, not even close to disturbing a heavily sleeping Scar in the next room.

The demented part of her - the part that wanted to be fucked so badly whispered tauntingly,

_“You really want it, don’t you? You want him, don’t you? Why don’t you do something about it?”_

Vice’s eyes closed finally, and the voice continued, _“Go get it. You know you want to.”_ The girl then rolled onto her stomach, her hand leaving her breast since it wasn’t helping the craving. She used that hand instead to spread her lips open. The pulse between her legs grew stronger and her two fingers were infinitely drenched - still sliding in and out like nobody’s business. More loud, awkward, even embarrassing noises left her, her fingers already more than drenched in her own body fluids. She felt some leak out, dripping down to the sheets under her. She lifted her lower body into the air, feeling an intense build up of muscle. Wanting the torture to end, she started flicking her clit with her thumb, which made the build-up worse; a few moments after that, her fingers were sucked in and she collapsed under the force of her first, real orgasm, becoming drenched in her own climax. She panted, and she hit one of her pillows face-first. Her eyes very weakly fluttered open, and she took a shaky breath. She felt another breeze in between her legs, and drew her thighs close together, rolling to her side again. She tucked her knees into her chest, and wrapped her arms around herself, looking down at the mess she made, and the sticky mess that clung to her two fingers.

Vice shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself, cooling down. She felt the heat hug her face. Slowly catching her breath, she let out a soft giggle. She was now succumbing to the effects of the high. She felt ‘good’, and it was unlike any other feeling of ‘good’ she felt, _ever_ . She closed her eyes again and gripped her biceps tightly. It _wasn’t_ enough. She wanted more. But it would do for now. For now, she released all the pent-up tension she had, so the only thing left to do was to dream and sleep.

Dream and sleep about the boy named Jay that she would entangle in her crutches soon enough.


End file.
